Bear The Blaze (Firebear Brides 3) by Anya Nowlan

everything, and claim her because that would be better for him ?
    Squaring his jaw, Ragnar felt his hands balling into fists. No. It wouldn’t be fair. She had her whole life ahead of her. To her he was a hot lay in a glorified toolshed, a good memory to sometimes look back upon with a wistful smile. Her life would not be tied around those moments they spent together, or the way she felt when their hands touched, or how the air smelled like vinegar when they were apart.
    She could have a normal future. One that wasn’t tied down with a bear who could barely handle himself, let alone protect her or keep her happy.
    At that very moment, Ragnar wanted nothing more than to stand up, cross the hallway between his room and hers, and fuck her until the only word left in her vocabulary was his name. She would taste better than any liquor and he could get drunk on her, not fearing the consequences. It would be, in a word, heaven. But he couldn’t do that to her.
    So, there he was, flipping himself over and over again in a bed that creaked every time he moved, suffocating in the hot summer air and contemplating the many, many ways in which he could lessen his current misery, but wouldn’t.
    I have to let her go. I can’t do this to her. She deserves better.
    Ragnar believed it with all his heart. And it broke his heart into a million pieces right along with that conviction.
 

CHAPTER NINE
    Abigail
     
    Being around Ragnar was like trying to tell tomorrow’s weather off of tea leaves and good intentions. The day before, she’d felt closer to him than ever. Holding his hand as they exited the diner, kissing him like a rabid teenager in the car as they parked in the woods a few miles from Hamilton House and losing herself in him completely. And then like a light had been turned off, she felt like he didn’t acknowledge her existence at all.
    After she’d read the articles the same night and agreed with Ragnar’s assessment of the situation, she’d gone to his room and told him her thoughts. He’d listened to her impassively, not an ounce of that caring, brokenhearted bear she’d sat with at the diner visible in him. It was like she was in the room with a different person altogether, all the warmth and joy and lust had been sucked out of the situation, leaving Abigail confused and alone. It was not a pleasant feeling.
    The morning had been much the same. She hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before, thinking about what the hell had she done to mess things up with Ragnar or what could have happened. When he gave her the cold shoulder at the breakfast table, she was too tired and annoyed to put on a good face about it, and her irritation had turned to anger.
    Probably not wise to act like a sullen teen in front of everyone, Abigail thought, eating her breakfast on the hood of Old Bell, legs crossed.
    Tiana had made some amazing waffles and Royce had cooked up scrambled eggs. Those two were so obnoxiously perfect together that it made her gag. Funny, just yesterday she’d thought them endearing. Same went for Rose and Redmond, who cooed at each other like they’d never seen one another. That was all compared to Ragnar, who looked like he’d been staring death in the face for the whole night and had barely lifted his eyes to greet her when she came down the stairs. Abigail was feeling sick to her stomach at the moment.
    He’s hot and he’s cold, she mused grimly, stopping herself before the Katy Perry song got too far in her head. She had to keep some modicum of decorum, after all.
    She was halfway through her breakfast when she heard a flurry of hurried footsteps making the ground shake. A sound like that could only be made by a flock of Hamiltons descending upon the workshop like a plague of locusts. Hot, sexy, panty-meltingly gorgeous locusts. But locusts just the same.
    “What’s the hubbub?” Abigail asked, steadfastly ignoring Ragnar’s gaze.
    Not that there was much point to it. He barely looked up from